


Memory and Desire

by Jinniyah



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Community: eleventy_kink, Crossdressing Kink, Dom/sub, M/M, Roleplay, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-19
Updated: 2012-06-19
Packaged: 2017-11-08 02:35:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/438201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jinniyah/pseuds/Jinniyah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Go on, Rory.  I think lace is cool.  So put me over your knee and spank me.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memory and Desire

'Ah! Rory! Good! I need help. My bits keep falling out of this ... thing.'

'Thong,' Rory corrects as he watches the Doctor trying, rather futilely, to make the necessary adjustments. 'It's called a thong, Doctor. And it's a _girl_ 's thong, so it's not designed for your ... bits.'

The Doctor is wearing Amy's thong. To be precise, it's her Lacy Peek-A-Boo Bra and Crotchless Thong Set, although the Doctor has drawn the line at attempting to wear the bra; it's lying discarded on the bed. 

'Well, the thong-thing's broken,' the Doctor complains. 'Look. There's part of it missing.'

'That part's supposed to be missing because it's a _crotchless_ thong. Doctor, what are you doing?"

The Doctor is wearing Amy's French Maid outfit. Her kissogram costume is a stretchy black affair (which clearly stretches a good deal more than Rory has ever realised), completed by a frilly white apron and a net petticoat peeping out under the absurdly short satin skirt. The Doctor has gone so far as to remove his bowtie so he can adorn his neck with the frilly collar, but at least he's been too preoccupied with the thong to don the cap and garter: they're on the bed with the bra and a feather duster. 

'Amy put her costumes in the TARDIS wardrobe,' the Doctor says as if that was all the explanation Rory needed.

'Yes, she did. And that's a girl's costume.'

'Yes, Rory. I know. But it has lace, and I haven't tried lace for a while.' The Doctor adjusts the lacy apron approvingly. 'I like the lace. Lace is –'

'Don't!' Rory says quickly. 'If you tell me lace is cool, I shall be forced to put you over my knee and give you a bloody hard spanking.' 

There follows a short silence during which Rory realises that the last part of that sentence should have been kept safely in his head. The Doctor gives him a very strange look, which Rory thinks is a bit rich considering that the Doctor is the one who caused Rory's mind to jump tracks by dressing as a French maid in the first place.

'Did you mean to say that last bit out loud?' the Doctor asks, reaching for the frilly white cap and carefully arranging it on his rumpled hair. 

'I was thinking of Amy.' Rory has some very fond memories of Amy in her French Maid's kissogram outfit, and the games they've played. It's not his fault some of those memories leaked into his mouth without him realising.

'Really?' The Doctor stares into the mirror and admires the cap. 'Do you spank her often?'

'Sometimes. With her consent, of course.'

'Well, that's ... new.' The Doctor twirls around to stare intently at Rory.

He looks ridiculous, Rory thinks. The top half of the costume gapes most unflatteringly because the Doctor lacks the necessary cleavage to fill it properly, and the way his very male legs stick out of the skirt make him look like a crazy mix-up in one of those split-page books Rory had had as a kid. The one thing the Doctor doesn't look is sexy. There's no way any man could look hot and fuckable in that get-up, Rory tells his libido firmly. No really. There isn't. 

'So how does it work then?' the Doctor asks. 'This whole spanking thing.'

'What? Oh. It's role play. Amy's a maid, not doing her job properly. I'm her master and I have to discipline her.'

'So you're her master. I see.' The Doctor sounds thoughtful. ' And Amy likes this role play? It doesn't sound very Amy-ish to me.'

'That's the whole point. Amy is, well, a pretty dominant personality, and sometimes she wants to experience something different.'

'Hmm. That's all very interesting. How about you demonstrate? Actions. Louder than words, you know.' The Doctor waves a hand vaguely, but his eyes are very far from vague. 'Go on, Rory. I think lace is cool. So put me over your knee and spank me.'

Once Rory would've mumbled a refusal and beat a hasty retreat. But that was before he had a door in his mind, one that hid nearly two-thousand years worth of duplicate memories. Sometimes they bled through, and right now he's remembering his considerable command experience, and a few interesting same-sex encounters to boot. 

So he hears himself saying, quite calmly, "If that's what you want, Doctor. Only if you're going to take on the part of Amy, you need to know that our play always ends with us fucking. This is all about going beyond what's comfortable. I punish you, and you submit entirely to me. And you'll call me what I am in this role play – your Master – or it doesn't happen. Is that understood?' 

There's a moment's silence. Then the Doctor wets his lips. 'Understood, Master.'

Oh God. That was.. Rory swallows hard to clear his throat. 'Are you familiar with risk-aware consensual kink?'

'Yes! No! I mean, I might have been. Once. I'm old, I forget things.' The Doctor waves a dismissive hand. 'I'm sure I will be what with the whole River Song and handcuffs thing... anyway. This is kinky, possibly risky and I'm consenting. Anything else or can we get on with the spanking now?'

'One last thing: if at any point either of us want this to stop, we say "fez" and all play will be over. Okay?'

'Fez. Absolutely.'

'Then we'll start. Stay where you are,' Rory orders, harshening his tone without any conscious thought. Command voice, he realizes, slightly impressed by the way it's suddenly back at his disposal. 'Don't speak unless I give you permission.' He pulls a tube of lubricant out from the bedside cabinet, aware of the Doctor staring at him with intense interest, and puts Amy's hairbrush down on the bed beside the feather duster. 

Then Rory settles himself down on the edge of the bed and looks up at the Doctor. No more arguing with his libido, Rory decides as he takes in the Doctor's earnest expression and the badly-fitting costume. He finds he's now in complete agreement with his cock: ridiculous as he looks, the Doctor is utterly fuckable like this. 

'Come here.' Rory parts his legs and gestures the Doctor between them. 'Lie across my knee.'

The Doctor positions himself as instructed, bending his gangly frame over Rory's knee, the upper half of his body stretching across the bed, head turned to one side. He feels bony and heavier than expected, but Rory likes the feel of the Doctor's cock pressing against his thigh. The black skirts and white petticoat stick out jauntily over the Doctor's arse and Rory pushes them back with one hand, revealing a backside a little more nicely rounded than he'd been anticipating. Rory's hand itches at the prospect of turning those pale cheeks a nice blushing shade of pink, but first things first. He rubs a finger over the string of the thong right where it plunges into the Doctor's crack. 

'This is coming off. Lift yourself up.'

The Doctor hesitates only a second before complying, but Rory marks the delay in his mind even as he takes a firm hold of the thong and begins to peel it down. He'd been intending to start gently and gradually warm the Doctor up to something a little more robust, but now he decides that the Doctor needs to be put in his place. He smacks his hand down hard on the Doctor's exposed flesh.

'Ow!' The Doctor gives a squeak of surprise and tries to stand up, the maid's cap tumbling off his head . 'I didn't know you were going to do that! I wasn't ready!'

Rory shoves him back down, hard. 'I told you to shut up. What part of "punishment" don't you understand?' He waits, giving the Doctor plenty of time to think it through, to use the safe word if he wants to. 

The Doctor is silent. Rory spreads his fingers and places his hand on the Doctor's bare skin, and feels him shiver. He knows it's a good shiver because the Doctor's cock twitches, ever so slightly, against his thigh. 'That's better. But I still think your backside deserves a good tanning, don't you agree?'

The Doctor closes his eyes and breathes, 'Oh yes, Master.' 

Now it's Rory's turn to shiver. He's not heard that note of desire in the Doctor's voice before, and it's one hell of turn on. Taking a deep breath, he raises his hand again and brings it down hard. Oh, he _loves_ this, the sharp crack as his hand impacts so beautifully, so intimately, against naked skin and the way the Doctor's body shudders, silent and pliant, under the onslaught. Rory counts each stroke out loud all the way up to twenty, precisely timing it to match each stinging slap. Only then does he let himself pause to admire the nice blush of colour he's creating, and the way the red marks of his fingers stand out against the pale skin. The Doctor has remained quite still during Rory's attentions, but his breathing's quickened and his cock is swelling up nicely.

That's all well and good, but Rory wants a little more. So he picks up the hairbrush and thrashes the flat side forcefully across the Doctor's arse. This time the Doctor is startled into a yelp of pain, and a wriggle to escape the next blow. Rory presses his free hand on the Doctor's back, pinning him down. The wriggling actually feels rather nice, and the Doctor's state of arousal certainly hasn't diminished.

'Keep still,' Rory orders with a cold detachment he's far from feeling. 'I'm just getting started, and you can take a hell of a lot more than this. You're getting ten strikes on each side, and if you move or cry out, I'll double the punishment. Understood?'

'Understood, Master.' 

Rory can see the Doctor's hands grip the bedding, bracing himself, so he doesn't bother to pull his blows. He falls into an steady rhythm, making each crack slightly more heavy-handed than the last, pasting the Doctor's skin with red welts right from the base of his spine to the tops of his thighs. The Doctor doesn't move or cry out, but his breath hisses through his teeth on a few occasions and Rory can feel him trembling. Hell, he's trembling himself, getting steadily harder on the Doctor's submission and his own dominance.

After twenty strokes, he puts down the brush with a shaking hand and trails a finger over the Doctor's rosy, hot arse. The Doctor flinches, but Rory can feel the hardness of his cock so he knows damn well he's getting off on the pain, which is ... interesting. He reaches for the feather duster, watching the Doctor's face with avid enjoyment. He looks so delicious – breathing hard, lips parted, strands of dark hair damp against his flushed face – that right there and then Rory decides that this will end with the Doctor on his back while Rory fucks him into the middle of next week and watches his face as he comes. 

The Doctor twitches as Rory slides the soft feathers over his abused backside, and Rory savours the startled expression that crosses his face. With a small smile, he jerks the Doctor's legs a little apart and skims the feathers across his balls before slithering them along the hard length of his cock. The Doctor flails, jerking his hips frantically. 

'Ah! Oh yes, Master! Please.'

'You don't get to come till I'm good and ready,' Rory grounds out with as much coolness as he can muster – which isn't a lot by this point because the Doctor's uninhibited responses are exquisite beyond belief. Rory daren't unfasten his own trousers and release the increasingly painful pressure there because he's not sure he could stop himself from frantically rubbing his cock against the Doctor's tender scarlet arse until he came all over him. 

Instead, he busies his hands in squeezing out a little lube and coating the slim handle of the feather duster. The sticky, slippery stuff clings to his fingers as he lines up the handle at the Doctor's hole and presses just the tip inside him.

'You like that?' Rory twists the handle between his palms, pushing in deeper, ruthlessly demanding a reaction that's gratifyingly quick in coming. The Doctor bucks up against the impalement and groans deep in his throat, his hands clutching the sheets in a kind of death grip. Rory smiles. 'Oh, I thought you might.'

Rory pulls out the duster handle and stands up suddenly, taking the Doctor's lower body with him and rolling him onto his back. The Doctor catches his breath and winces as his abused backside comes into contact with the bedding. His cock rears up, and there's a shiny stain where he's rubbed up against the frilly satin skirts and a matching one on Rory's trousers.

'Lift up your legs,' Rory instructs. 'And your arse.' He shoves a pillow under the Doctor's lower back, more in the interests of easing his entry rather than ensuring the Doctor's comfort. With his other, he unzips his trousers and pulls free the swollen length of his own cock; hell, he's so hard it's starting to hurt and he really doesn't want to wait much longer. He hefts it in one hand and the Doctor's tongue steals out from between his lips as he stares. His expression is fascinated, and, Rory thinks, not without a little trepidation. 

'Take a good long look,' Rory tells him. 'Because in a moment you're going to be dancing on the end of it while I fuck the living daylights out of you.'

'Oh, Master,' the Doctor breathes, pupils fixed and dilated. 'Yes, please .'

'Beg some more. I'm getting to like it.' Rory has to bite down on the inside of his mouth to keep from smiling, because if that isn't that the understatement of the year, he doesn't know what is.

'Give me your cock, Master. _Please_.' Without any encouragement, the Doctor has his legs raised, his hands on his cherry-red arse cheeks, splaying them open so Rory can see his slick, waiting hole. As invitations went, this one is damn near impossible to resist so Rory doesn't even bother trying. He lines himself up and shoves inside hard and fast. 

Oh fuckfuckfuck. 

When the Doctor cries out at the penetration – in shock, pain, pleasure, or some unholy combination of all three – Rory neither knows nor cares. He's not hearing a safe word, and right now that's the only thing that would put him off his stroke. Because this is the Doctor — Amy's magical Raggedy Man — who writhes with such eagerness under him, one hand gripping Rory's hip and urging him on like a creature possessed. And he's so satisfyingly tight that Rory just wants to lose himself in the glorious friction and watch the look of ecstasy on the Doctor's face as he takes Rory's cock up his arse like he was born for it. 

Until the Doctor spoils it. With a whimper, he reaches out for his own hard cock and Rory knocks his hand away with a snarl. 'You don't come until I say so!'

The Doctor flexes his fingers in frustration against the rucked-up bedding. 'But I need – '

Rory leans forward and slaps him across the face. 'I don't give a flying fuck what you need! I am your Master and you obey me! Do you understand?'

'Yes, oh yes!' The Doctor gasps. 'But – ' 

Rory cracks his hand across the other side of the Doctor's face for good measure and, oh shit, he's hit much harder than he intended because this time the Doctor's teeth have cut into his lip. He hesitates a long moment, but the Doctor says nothing, He simply stares back, an almost unholy light shining in his eyes.

Rory leans in close. 'Who am I?'

'My Master.'

'Say it again.'

'My Master!' The Doctor chokes off the words with a strangled sob. There's blood on his face, but it's his look of almost ecstatic submission that's exactly what Rory needs. 

He throws off all restraint, gorging himself on the slap and slide of flesh against flesh, his own harsh panting as he pounds into the willing body under him, and the Doctor's moans as he unravels into a shaking, incoherent mess. He's fucking the Doctor and it's insane and terrifying and bloody glorious. When Rory comes it feels like whole galaxies are exploding into life throughout his entire body, blazing through space and setting light to the darkness over and over again, each pulse a ribbon of fire in the night. Caught up by an ancient memory, Rory finds himself pulling out just before he finishes and scattering the last few drops of his semen over the Doctor's face like a mad artist putting the final touches to his latest creation. And then, heart still racing, Rory slumps back on his heels. It's time to take a good long look at what he's done.

The Doctor lies exposed before him, his cock standing proud, blood from his cut lip puddling with Rory's spunk as it slides down his fringe. The sexy maid's costume, now spattered from Rory's ejaculations, is bunched up around the Doctor's hips and he still has his legs drawn back, almost as if he's frozen in place. Rory can see the hot red welts on his arse and the dribble of cream from his well-fucked hole. He looks utterly despoiled and so perfect that Rory wants to paint this moment into his memory for all time. 

'Please,' the Doctor says, his voice ragged. 'Please ...' 

Without saying a word, Rory slathers his hand with lube and then wraps it loosely around the Doctor's hard cock. He knows it won't take much to finish him, but he also wants to spin out the moment as long as he can. So now he makes the Doctor wait, watching as he bites back a moan, jerking up into Rory's hand in a frantic attempt to create some friction. There's a warm pool of pleasure welling up deep inside Rory that he can do this, not only ravage the Doctor so thoroughly, but keep him on the edge and make him silently beg for relief.

And not so silently, too: 'Master, _please_!' the Doctor implores.

Rory makes a show of obliging, sliding his hand up and down the Doctor's cock. But he takes his time and is maddeningly half-hearted about it, giving just enough to keep the Doctor hard and hungry for completion. Ruining his orgasm would be a simple matter, but Rory doesn't want to do that. Not unless the Doctor gives him reason. 

'Do you think you really deserve to come?' Rory asks him at last.

'I .... I ...' The Doctor starts and then stops. He takes a shaky breath, forcing himself to stay absolutely still. 'That's your decision ... Master.'

'Right answer.' Rory gives a slight smile. 'Well done.' 

Now he goes for it. He grips the Doctor's cock and pumps hard until his hand shakes, and the Doctor is crying out, his head thrashing from side to side, face twisted and laid bare. Because right now he's not a Time Lord or an alien or anything at all except a man. One that Rory is jerking off into the most spectacular of meltdowns. 

When the Doctor finally comes it's with a series of sharp, hoarse cries, his semen spurting across Rory's hand in violent spasms. Rory rides it out with him, milking the moment for all it's worth, until the Doctor's cock is limp and empty and he's subsided into a trembling sprawl across the bed. 

Rory wipes his hand on the bedclothes, giving him a little time to come out of it and quieten his breath before he says, 'Game over, Doctor. Are you all right?'

'All right. Yes. I'm all right.' The Doctor swallows hard and blinks open his eyes. His expression is dazed and more than a little stunned, which Rory takes as a compliment. 'Oh God. That was ... very ... yes. Very.'

'Yeah, it was.' Rory reaches out and smoothes one hand hesitantly over the Doctor's damp hair. He's not at all sure what the Doctor wants from him now. The game is over and they haven't negotiated any after care. An oversight, he realizes with a twist of guilt. But when the Doctor accepts Rory's caress and closes his eyes, Rory thinks there might be a twitch of a smile around his mouth, which settles his mind considerably.

Then the Doctor snaps his eyes open, suddenly flustered out of post-coital bliss. 'Amy! What will Amy say?'

'It's a little late for you to think of that,' Rory chided. He'd thought of it, of course. Mostly he'd thought of how furious Amy would be when she found out what she'd missed. 'But if it helps ease your conscience, she's going to give us hell for not letting her watch.'

'Ah.' The Doctor quite clearly has a lot of conflicting emotions about this statement and every single one of them flickers in rapid succession across his face. ' _Oh_.'

'Yeah, well, Doctor, you're not the only one who's full of surprises. Now, do you want to stay here for a bit or clean up?' 

The Doctor considers for a moment and then says, 'Actually, I'd just like you to hold me.'

'Hold you. Right. I can do that.' Rory eases himself onto the bed next to the Doctor. They're both a mess, and so is the bed, but none of that matters. He wraps his arms around him and pulls him into a gentle embrace, feeling him shudder. 

'Sure you're all right?' Rory asks.

'Oh yes. Very much all right. Rory, I know you mean well, but just ... don't fuss me too much. I still want –'

'You still want me to be your Master,' Rory finishes, not sure how he knows but certain he's right.

'Clever, clever Rory, ' the Doctor whispers against Rory's neck. "Yes, I need that. For just a little longer. And next time when I call you "Master", can you answer, "I like it when you use my name," because that would make it absolutely perfect.'

end


End file.
